


Words Like Knives

by RedCoatsRedder



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: George Washington is a Dad, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 22:44:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14199255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedCoatsRedder/pseuds/RedCoatsRedder
Summary: Thomas Jefferson is a jerk, Washington is protective.....yeah.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy, I will have a second one up soon, hopefully.

Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton were rivals. Anyone who saw the two in a room together could figure that out. But rarely did their fights cause actual damage. Sometimes, though, things went a little too far. As they did on one sweltering day in April of 1785. 

President Washington was overseeing a cabinet meeting. And, per usual, two of his secretaries were engaged in a shouting match. Again. Over what would likely turn out to be a trivial matter. Again. The others were egging them on. Again. Hamilton had ink covering his fingers and staining his shirtsleeves, his fingers curling around his quills like he meant to use them as projectile weapons. Again. Jefferson was leaning haughtily on his cane, a smirk written plainly across his face. Again. 

“Secretary Hamilton, please, sit down. You’ll be able to say your piece.” Washington admonished. At least Hamilton had the good grace to look somewhat scolded as he sat back down, still giving Jefferson a glare that could set fire to stone. The Secretary of State, leaned forward, as if he was gathering dramatic effect, and began to speak. 

“Well, Mr. President, have you considered….” and it all dissolved into a jumble of words after that. Washington knew it was just to waste time, really, to further infuriate Hamilton, who was nearly vibrating as he sat at the edge of his seat, hand moving a mile a minute as he wrote down whatever comeback he was planning. 

When Jefferson finally sat down, Washington let out a soft sigh. “Thank you, Secretary Jefferson. Secretary Hamilton. Your response.” Another sigh, this one of apprehension. Hamilton could speak for hours, and at the rate this meeting had been going, he might just do so. The small man shot to his feet, and began speaking rapidly. It all faded to background noise inside the President’s head. His thoughts drifted around, completely ignoring the arguing secretaries. 

I miss Martha, I hope she’s doing well. 

I wonder how everything is back at Mount Vernon. I can’t wait until I get to take a break and go home. 

How long is Alexander going to talk this time? At least it was only writing at all hours during the war. But he still does that, too. 

Jefferson’s coat is very loud. Magenta, really? Must be a French thing. Lafayette, at least, never dressed like that. 

It is really hot in this room, maybe we should open a window before the- 

He was suddenly dragged from his thoughts by a loud proclamation from Jefferson, one that made his blood boil, because how could that man deal such a low blow. 

“Hamilton, when I am President, the first thing I’m going to do will be to send you back to whatever hellhole of an island you crawled off of.” 

The rest of the cabinet boos their displeasure and laughs their approval. Seemingly buoyed by the praise, and ignoring the complaints, Jefferson plows on. 

“Surely they’ll be willing to take another bastard with no family. Especially one from their own rotting shores.” He is smirking now. Most of the other cabinet members are trying to hide smiles. Hamilton is stock still, a stony expression on his face. 

“But, do mine eyes deceive me?” Jefferson looks around, eyes dramatically widened. “Are there people here whom you did not inform of your background? Why, Hamilton, how very rude. The good people deserve to know.” The man looks up at Washington, now practically grinning. “If you didn’t know, now you do, Mr. President.” He gives a little bow, and the cabinet explodes in a roar of laughter, mocking calls, and angry shouts. 

Throughout all of it, Hamilton has been standing at his desk, back straight, knuckles white from where he grips the wood. He’s looking down at his papers, whatever words he was planning on saying dying on his tongue before he can get them out. Washington feels his heart twist, looking down at the obviously distraught Hamilton. 

He rises to his feet, calling out “ENOUGH! This meeting is adjourned. Hamilton, a word, please.” He walks briskly to his office, seeing Jefferson cuff Hamilton’s shins with his cane on the way out the door. Hears the murmured taunt of “Daddy’s calling, Hamilton, better get going.” Sees the way Hamilton’s throat works as he swallows hard, blinking quickly. 

Washington sits at his desk as he waits for his secretary. A few minutes pass, and he’s about to go look for Hamilton when a soft knock sounds on the door. “Come in” he calls. 

Hamilton stands in the doorway, looking very small. His gaze is focused on the floor, and he holds in his hand a small roll of paper. His voice, when he speaks, is quiet and timid, so unlike the Little Lion that Washington knew during the war. “I expect you have called me here to demand my resignation, sir, and to save you the trouble and embarrassment I already wrote it, sir.” 

The President is shocked into silence. His still expression is mistaken for anger by Hamilton, who edges back slightly with a faint whimper. He cautiously lays the paper down on Washington’s desk, before retreating quickly and hurrying from the room. 

Shaken from his reverie, Washington scoops up the paper, steadying his hands as he unrolls it. From the very first line he can tell this is not good. 

To His Excellency, President Washington. 

Sir, I am resigning from my position as a member of your cabinet, due to what Mr. Jefferson made common knowledge today. 

I am aware that you were previously informed of my unfortunate background, but since the public will undoubtedly know in a few days, I thought it best to resign and thus hopefully spare you the embarrassment of having a bastard in your cabinet. In a worst case scenario you can pretend you weren’t told of my past. 

Included in this letter are a few names that I think may be suitable candidates for the Secretary of the Treasury position. 

Yours Most Sincerely,

A. Hamilton 

The paper falls from his hands. Washington scans the list of names with no interest. None of them would be able to fully replace Hamilton. Why oh why had he not said something when the boy was in the room? He should have grabbed Hamilton firmly by the shoulders and told him no, you’re staying right here with me, and Jefferson can go to hell. 

But he hadn’t, and now the brilliant young man he’d worked with for so long was gone. 

Washington stands up, wondering if he might be able to catch Hamilton before he’s gone for good, remind him that he never accepted his resignation. 

 

Alex’s POV now 

The moment he got back to his office after that meeting, he’d penned a quick letter of resignation to Washington. It would be wrong, he thought, to tarnish the great man’s legacy with his past. 

Of course Washington had been angry. He’d sat still as stone when Alexander brought the letter to him, and it had taken all his willpower not to bolt, as was most people’s first instinct when the former General was angry. As it was, he’d still let out a whimper. 

So now he’s in his office, shuffling all his papers together, and gathering up the few personal touches in the room. He’s absorbed in the task and doesn’t hear the door open, doesn’t see Jefferson until the man is perched ostentatiously on the desk behind him. 

“Ah, looks like someone is in trouble. Was Daddy angry with you? Mad that you hid such vital information from him all these years?” Jefferson doesn’t even try to hide his smirk. 

Not even looking at Jefferson, Hamilton snaps, “The President is not my father. And I chose to resign rather than deal a blow to his reputation.” 

“Oh, how noble of you, Hamilton. Now, shoo. Go on. Get out, and do us all a favor. If you’re so concerned about others reputations, you can do everyone a favor and stay away. After all, no one wants to be acquainted with a bastard.” 

Jefferson’s words cut deep. Hamilton tries to hide it, turning away from the other man, blinking. He sighs, and gathers all of his things into his arms, ready to head home, already dreading telling Eliza. God, how will they support their family now? He’d have to go back to the law, he supposed. Hamilton had barely made it two steps when the door opens. It’s Washington. 

“Hamilton, where do you think you’re going? Put all of that back down. I never accepted your resignation, and I don’t plan on doing so. I’m afraid you’re stuck here.” He gives the young man a small smile. 

He thinks he would hug Washington on the spot if he hadn’t had his dignity. As it is, he’s sure his expression must convey the intense joy he’s feeling. It only grows with the President’s next words. 

“Mr. Jefferson, could I have a word with you, please?” 

As they exit the office, Jefferson turns and gives Hamilton a infuriated glare. 

Washington perspective

He’d been about to knock on Hamilton’s door when he heard the voices. Though muffled, there was no mistaking Jefferson and Hamilton. He leaned in closer, trying to catch the words. Thankfully, no one was around, or they’d see their President eavesdropping like a child. 

Jefferson’s voice sleeps through the wood. “....like someone is in trouble. Was Daddy angry with you? Mad that you hid such vital information from him all these years?” Goddamnit, he can practically hear the smirk in the man’s voice. 

And now Hamilton’s response, quieter but not lacking any anger. “The President is not my father. And I chose to resign rather than deal a blow to his reputation.” Washington feels his heart twist again. He knew that Hamilton would always shy away from any affection, yet he still kept using fond appellations for the boy. Oh, Hamilton. Your presence would be far better than a perfect reputation. No one is perfect. 

But Jefferson is speaking again. “Oh, how noble of you, Hamilton. Now, shoo. Go on. Get out, and do us all a favor. If you’re so concerned about others reputations, you can do everyone a favor and stay away. After all, no one wants to be acquainted with a bastard.” 

Washington doesn’t want to listen to this anymore. He flings open the door, not even bothering to knock, and addresses Hamilton. 

“Hamilton, where do you think you’re going? Put all of that back down. I never accepted your resignation, and I don’t plan on doing so. I’m afraid you’re stuck here.” 

The palpable joy that comes over Hamilton’s face is impossible to miss. It’s rather endearing. Washington smiles softly down at the boy. Now. Time to deal with Jefferson. “Mr. Jefferson, could I have a word with you, please?” 

They walk to his office. Neither speaks. When they finally arrive, Washington moves to stand behind his desk, slamming his palms down onto the surface. “Pray tell me, what were you thinking? There was no reason for the debate between you and Secretary Hamilton to become so personal. Hamilton has worked hard to earn his place here. And you may have just reduced all of his efforts to nothing.” 

Jefferson rocks back on his heels. “So I assume you already knew about his background?” 

Washington pinches the bridge of his nose. “Of course I did. He was my chief of staff during the war! I never cared. He is brilliant.” 

“Mr. President , I understand completely. It is understandable that you would have a small attachment, given the many years you’ve spent in each other’s company. However, I plan to hold true to my promises. If I am President one day, I would very much like to use my authority to send Hamilton back to the Caribbean.” 

This is almost bordering on treason, but Washington knows that a.) if Jefferson becomes President, it won’t be for years yet, and b.) there is no way he will lay a finger on Hamilton. 

“Very well then. If I may, Mr. Jefferson, a word of advice?” The man pauses and turns. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

When he passed by Hamilton’s office again, he peers around the doorframe, smiling when he saw the boy hard at work again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY I FREAKING FORGOT TO POST IT ANYWAYS HERE IT IS.

“Hey, Hamilton. What are you doing here so late? Where’s your father?” Thomas Jefferson was staying late at the office, and he had an urge to annoy Hamilton. It happened. The feisty immigrant was so easy to anger. It was good sport. At his words, Hamilton stiffened. “What is the meaning of this? I don’t have time for this, Jefferson!” He resumed his scribbling. 

“You know what I mean. Where’s Daddy, didn’t he tell you to go to bed by now?” Ah. There it was. A subtle tic in Hamilton’s cheek. “Jefferson go away. I don’t know nor care what you’re talking about.” That’s a good one, Thomas thought. You do know and it’s driving you crazy. 

“Hamilton, where’s Washington? Where’s your father, hmm? You know, I’ll wager that Daddy’s going to be upset with you for not following orders.” Aaaaand there it is. Hamilton slams his hand on the desk, rising to his feet. “President Washington is not my father! And he didn’t order me to leave, he recommended that I leave. For my health.” He falters as he realizes he’s only proving Thomas’s point. 

At that moment, the door opens. And who should it be but the very man they were just discussing. Washington enters, heading right for Hamilton. Lays a fond hand on his shoulder. Ruffles Hamilton’s hair. “Son, shouldn’t you be home? I thought I told you to get some rest.” The President finally notices Thomas. “Ah, Mr. Jefferson. What are you doing here? Is something the matter?” There’s an underlying tone of what are you doing in my boy’s office, are you fighting, is he hurt, what’s going on?” 

Hamilton is flushed a deep red. Embarrassed. As if people were blind, and didn’t see the affection Washington showed towards Hamilton. 

A smile, or a pat on the back, a ruffle of his hair, a dozen more little everyday actions that convey the President’s affections towards his treasury secretary. The man’s evident desire to fill the role of Hamilton’s father. And Thomas loves teasing Hamilton about it. 

“Nothing at all, sir. Just speaking with a colleague.” Washington nods. “Of course. Hamilton, come with me. You need some sleep, son.” 

Thomas smirks as Hamilton gathers his things silently. He watches, amused as Washington places a hand on the base of Hamilton’s neck. Awww sweet. Little Hamilton’s finally got a father. 

“Jemmy, it’s hilarious! His face, oh my god, whenever Washington so much as smiles at him. It’s like he can’t figure out what to do.” Thomas sips his wine, lounging in an armchair. James sits across from him, clutching a handkerchief along with his glass. He coughs, but manages to swallow a few mouthfuls anyway. 

He doesn’t miss the opportunity to continue teasing Hamilton the next day. “What’d Daddy say to you? Was he upset?” 

“Why do you care, Jefferson?” Hamilton snapped as he walked down the hall, his arms full of paper. “Now, let’s be civil. I was merely inquiring after a colleague. No need to be so prickly, Hamilton.” Thomas chides. They’re now making their way to the cabinet room for a meeting. 

They took their seats among the bustle of the room, and the meeting is called to order. 

France. They need to decide if they are going to help France. Thomas is all for it, and he thought Hamilton would be too. But never count on Hamilton’s predictability. The Caribbean man disagrees strongly with Thomas, and the debate dissolves into shouting, like always. 

“ENOUGH! Enough, Hamilton is right.” Washington shouts. “Mr. President….” Thomas groans. Washington ignores him and continues. “We’re too fragile to start another fight.” 

“But sir, do we not fight for freedom?” 

“Sure, when the French figure out who’s going to lead them.” Washington counters. 

“The people are leading!” Well they aren’t doing a good job of it, but it’s something. 

“The people are rioting, there’s a difference. And frankly, it’s a little disquieting. You would let your ideals blind you to reality?” Washington is ruthless. “Hamilton!” 

“Sir?” 

“Draft a statement of neutrality, would you?” As Hamilton goes to leave, Thomas pursues him, grabbing him by the arm. He’s angry. On this matter, at the very least, he expected Hamilton’s support. If not for him, then for Lafayette. But no. Hamilton was unpredictable as a storm, no way of telling if it would blow over or rain its full fury down upon you. 

And so they argue. Like they always do. Thomas is feeling rather bitter. How is it that this bastard immigrant can have the support of most of the cabinet, much of New York, and the approval of the President? 

The argument is brought to an end by Washington. “Hamilton!” He calls. Thomas glares at Alexander. “Daddy’s calling.” he remarks snidely. Hamilton looks torn between staying to strangle Thomas or rushing off to obey the orders of his commander. In the end, his military side wins and Hamilton is gone, assuming a respectful stance beside the President. Washington greets the boy with soft words of encouragement or congratulations or something else entirely. 

Thomas scowls after them, left standing in the foyer like some errant traveler. Stalking away towards his own office, lost in thought, muttering angrily to himself under his breath, he doesn’t see or hear James in front of him, though the smaller man is trying his best to get his attention. 

“Thomas.” 

“Thomas!”

“THOMAS!” 

Jefferson blinks. “What? Oh, sorry Jemmy. Didn’t hear you. What was it, again?” His friend huffs. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes.” Thomas winces slightly. “Anyway, I saw you looking fit to kill after the cabinet meeting, and I thought I’d talk to you.” 

Thomas has never been more grateful to his friend. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

“...and I just don’t understand, why won’t he support France? He’s friends with Lafayette too, I know that for certain, but he still won’t budge! I mean, they’re supposed to be our allies! An alliance means that you help someone when they need assistance! Does he not know what that means, maybe I ought to tell him….” Thomas ranted as he paced a furious circle around James’s desk. 

James is leaning back in his chair, observing the antics of his friend with a mild look on his face. “If he didn’t have Washington’s patronage, this whole affair would have gone a lot smoother, and much more in our favor.” 

At the man’s words, Thomas stopped pacing entirely. Glancing up at his friend, he scoffed. “Yeah, as if that’s ever going to happen. The President looks upon Hamilton as if he were his own son. It’s good material for taunting Hamilton but not for much else.” 

A devious look that Thomas had rarely seen cross James’s face lit up his features. “Well then, how about we have a little fun?” 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

It proves easier than expected to get what James wants. Which is Hamilton by himself, after the entire building has left, for home and their beds. 

So Thomas saunters up to the man sometime after midnight, when he’s left his office to fetch another candle and some more paper and ink. “Why, hello there Hamilton. What has you staying at work at such an hour?” Hamilton barely spares him a glance. “The same reason you’re still here, I presume.” 

Ha. Right. Absolutely. Thomas follows a few steps behind Hamilton, watching as the man rubs at his eyes and yawns. Underneath, his eyes are mottled with purple. A brief flash of worry goes through his mind- it was awfully late, and Hamilton had pulled the same hours the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that -but he tosses that aside. Ahead of him, Alexander re-enters his office. Outside, the rattle of carriage wheels on stone signal that James had done his part in this little drama. And- yes, there it was. The sound of a door opening and someone hurrying up the steps. Thomas slid into the shadows right as the figure reached the top stair, and stepped into a thin beam of moonlight coming in the window. President Washington, a worried expression on his face. He enters Hamilton’s office without so much as a knock, disappearing from Thomas’s view. He can still hear what’s going on, though. A few moments later, he’s joined in his hiding spot by James, who mutters, “Move over.” as he pushes inside.

“...did you know I was still here?” It’s unmistakably Hamilton’s voice, sounding sullen. “I received word from someone who was concerned for you. And no, it wasn’t your wife.” Washington sounds tired. “You’re ill.” 

Hamilton’s voice vehemently denies it. “Sir, I’m fine. I am in perfect health.” 

“No, son, you’re not.” The President’s voice is gentle, painfully so. “You’re going to come home, and you’re going to get some sleep and take care of yourself for the next two days.” No protests, only a sigh, are uttered by Hamilton. A moment later, the two emerge from the room, Washington with a protective arm wrapped around the shoulders of a sleepy-looking, and admittedly ill-seeming Hamilton, who is trying his hardest not to fall asleep right there in the President’s arms. Washington shoots a glance into the shadows where Thomas and James stand watching, making eye contact with Thomas and giving him a gratified look. Then, they’re gone. 

Hamilton’s not at work the next day, and Washington doesn’t speak of what happened the night prior. Just a small smile on his face in response to Thomas’s completely innocent inquiry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry guys anyways I hope that you liked part two! If anyone has any more ideas for a part three I would love to hear them!


End file.
